The Trial - Chapter Four

The girl jerked as if startled to be addressed. When she managed to speak again, her voice was a barely audible murmur…but Isabel could hear every word as if the girl stood right beside her, speaking into her ear.

“I…I was at the Church one evening…I was bringing medicine to the Father…err…to this woman,” a quick glance towards Isabel, and then a downward sweep of lashes, “who was sick…I was walking beside the Chapel…it’s closed off from the rest of the Church, and I heard something. I thought it was just someone at their prayers, but then I recognized the words spoken over the Blessed Sacrament…”

Though this girl would have no understanding of the Latin, she would be able to identity that part of the Mass, having grown up hearing it.

The girl continued. “It was not uncommon for the Fathe…for the accused to hold private Masses, but it was growing late and he…she had been so ill, I did not think it good for…her to be alone. So I entered the chapel…”

Isabel stopped listening. She didn’t need to hear the rest. She remembered it all too well. The girl had entered the Chapel and found Isabel at the altar, performing the Eucharistic rites. Startled by the sudden and unexpected interruption, Isabel had whipped around, forgetting that she was not in full disguise. Why should she be? No one had dared disturb her when she was at her private prayer before. She had been ill that day, and so had forgone her formal priestly robes in favor of a worn Alb cinched tightly at the waist. The girl had seen Isabel’s outlined figure, illuminated by the candles lighting the altar, and her eyes had gone wide with comprehension and shock. She’d fled the Chapel before Isabel could speak a word to her.

Isabel had known it’d only be a matter of time after that. The Inquisition had come pounding on her door the very next day. She’d imagined them darkening her doorstep many times before, wondering how she would be caught, because she never doubted that she would be.

She’d just never thought her downfall would be at the hands of one of her own flock.

…

“Are you not nervous today, Juan? I admit to being quite terrified myself.”

Isabel turned to look at the young man who stood next to her, dressed in robes that matched her own. His bright gaze showed his fear, and his clasped hands trembled. Isabel offered him a kind smile.

“It will be all right, Mateo. This is a joyous day! We are about to commit ourselves and our lives to the work of the Lord!”

Mateo gulped, but nodded, offering a tremulous smile at her words.

“You are right of course, my friend. This is a joyous day indeed.”

It was the day of their ordination. The day they would officially enter into the priesthood, and be granted the authority to bring God’s grace into the world.

Isabel and Mateo stood with several others as they waited to process into the Cathedral as a group. Quickly and subtly, Isabel checked to make sure her disguise was thorough, but of course it was. She had lived as a man for years as she’d prepared for her ultimate destiny. It had become second nature to her to hide her figure, masking her breasts and hips with robes just slightly larger than was necessary. She’d allowed her hands to become roughened over the years so that some of their delicateness was hidden by calluses and cracked palms.

Hiding had been easier than she’d initially anticipated, especially within the walls of the humble seminary she’d run away to not long after she’d spoken with the old priest. There was no communal bathing, no show of nakedness. There was no concern of prying eyes as long as she was obedient, humble, and holy. She had been all those things, and so had managed to blend into her new identity as Juan, the eager seminarian.

Now, she would be Fr. Juan, and she would see God’s will finally done.

“It’s beginning!” Mateo whispered, excitement lacing each word.

Isabel drew herself up and folded her hands in front of her as the doors to the Cathedral’s sanctuary opened. Warmth filled her as she made her way down the long aisle towards the altar. In that moment, she felt nothing but absolute joy and the unwavering love of God shining down on her.

The Trial - Chapter Three

The third examiner regained his composure the quickest.

“We have several witnesses willing to testify to your various acts of blasphemy.”

She could only imagine who they would bring in to condemn her. She was not without enemies. Not all appreciated her stalwart faith and assurance of God’s blessings, even if they had believed her to be a man all along.

“Bring in the first witness,” the second judge ordered.

Isabel waited, her chin high though her shoulders trembled with the weight.

A young girl stepped forward. Isabel hid her surprise, but felt her heart break. She recognized the girl from the parish she had been serving. She could not be that much younger than Isabel herself, probably fourteen or fifteen years of age. The girl looked terrified, her small frame shaking as she slowly moved to stand between Isabel and the judges.

She wouldn’t look at Isabel.

“Tell us child, have you ever witnessed this girl commit an act of heresy against our Holy Mother Church?” the third examiner asked, wasting no time.

Isabel closed her eyes and offered a brief prayer before the girl spoke. It was not a plea for help for herself, but one of forgiveness for the frightened girl. Isabel knew how it was to be so young and ignorant…to fear those who maintained such power over others. The girl’s words would no doubt prove even more ruinous to Isabel, but they would not be spoken out of hate.

They would come from a place of fear…a fear of powerful men who believed it their rite to dictate the lives of others. To promise salvation or condemnation, depending if their rules were followed. To proclaim what would be holy, and what would be profane.

To presume to know the will of God more thoroughly than those who have heard the direct voice of the Almighty.

…

For several years, Isabel tried to ignore the voice of God. Her mother’s words of warning and fear proved powerful enough to drive a spike of doubt into Isabel’s mind. Yet, she couldn’t make the voice disappear. It was persistent, first cajoling, then demanding. The call was relentless, always there in the back of her mind, never leaving her for a moment.

It was maddening.

At last, Isabel reached a point where she could take no more. She opened herself back up to her calling, and resumed walking the path made clear for her. Though her own acceptance of her call brought her peace of mind and calm, she worried what her mother would think.

What her father would do.

No. Isabel knew she could not go to either of them, but she felt she must speak with someone. She had no idea how to proceed on her own. So, she sought guidance from the priest of her small parish, believing if she explained it all, he would offer her direction and guidance to help her succeed.

Isabel was left disappointed.

“Our Lord, Christ Jesus chose only men to form the college of the twelve apostles, and the apostles did the same when they chose collaborators to succeed them in their ministry. The college of bishops, with whom the priests are united in the priesthood, makes the college of the twelve an ever-present and ever-active reality until Christ's return. The Church recognizes herself to be bound by this choice made by the Lord himself. For this reason, the ordination of women is not possible.” Once he had finished speaking, the old man stared at her, wrinkled hands folded in his robed lap.

Isabel blinked at him.

 

“Ummmm…but, Father, what of Saint Mary Magdalene?” 

It was the old Father’s turn to blink as if he did not comprehend her words.

“What about her?”

His tone was gentle, but patronizing. Isabel sensed that he did not take her seriously, but was humoring her.

“Was she not a favorite of the Lord? He appeared to her before any of the other apostles in his resurrected form, and she had the strongest faith of any of those close to him. Surely, she continued as a leader in the church after playing such a vital role in Christ’s ministry?”

The old priest smiled at her, but it was an indulgent smile. The kind an adult bestows on a child for doing something out of joyful ignorance.

“You are a clever girl, there is no doubt about that. However, Saint Mary Magdalene was not an apostle, and so not an official minister of the church in the way the other apostles were, as they were each appointed by Christ himself. She was, perhaps, a great helper to Peter and the others, but not a leader in her own right.”

Isabel opened her mouth to voice another question, but the old Father continued without noticing her.

“I can see how it would be confusing for such a young girl. Rest assured, my dear, that these issues and clarifications are made and resolved on your behalf by men with much more education and experience. It is the burden of those within the religious life to ask these complicated questions and determine God’s will for mankind. A burden, and a great privilege. We take on this responsibility so that you and the rest of the faithful may feel free to worship God with peace of mind, and with no distraction.”

“Yes, but Father, my question is not one of clarification…”

“It is natural for someone so young to have questions, and it is good that you have come to me seeking answers.” He reached out and patted her hand. “You are a good girl with great faith, I can see that, and I can see that you want to live your faith in the way you believe God is calling you. You have simply become confused, my dear. It is not to the priestly life that you are being called. It is impossible, and heretical, to believe such a thing, but you are young, as I have said. Your mind is easily clouded.”

Isabel frowned, but again, the old priest was speaking before she could force a word in.

“Perhaps you are being called to the religious life, in that the Father wishes you to take the veil and become a bride of Christ? There are many orders in the city that would be…”

Isabel stopped listening, frustration making her teeth clench. Though the life of a religious sister was a good and joy-filled calling for many, she knew it was not what she was meant for. With a sigh, she recognized that the man before her would prove no help. He did not believe her. He thought her a foolish child, and was too set in his ways to open himself to something new. To a different way of interpreting God’s word.

Would this always be the reaction to her call? Disbelief and dismissal?

Her frustration was overthrown by her growing anger. If she had been born a boy, there would be no question of her path…no barriers to block her way…

If she were a boy, no one would tell her she was wrong, or confused.

If she were a boy…

She shoved to her feet as an idea struck her, startling the old priest from his unending droning.

“Thank you, sir!” Isabel exclaimed, moving towards the door.

He stared at her with wide-eyes and a gaping mouth. Before he could say one more word, Isabel hurried from the room.

She knew at last what she must do, and she had no more time to waste with those who doubted her.